Why had this stranger bothered to call and tell her she’d done a bad job? Was he taunting her or angry she had a few details wrong?
Her breath came out in short bursts. Her hand stilled as a slow trickle of fear drained into her belly. Her throat turned dry and she took a sip of her cola. Could he have been... She couldn’t finish her thought.
After carefully placing the tumbler on the counter so she wouldn’t knock it over, she raced into the living room to find her purse.
“Kerry?” Grandpa called.
“Be right back.” After she searched her bag to locate the detective’s card, she scrambled back into the kitchen. She refused to believe the caller might be the killer—a killer who knew her name, knew her number.
She dialed Detective Markum and tapped her fingers on the handset, waiting for him to answer.
“Markum.”
The breath whooshed from her lungs. “It’s Kerry Herlihy.”
“What’s wrong?”
Was the fear in her voice that evident? “I received a call a few minutes ago at my grandfather’s house about the news broadcast.”
“From someone you know?”
“No. I don’t know who it was. He wouldn’t give me a name.”
“Tell me what he said.”
She detailed the one-sided conversation as precisely as she could. “Do you think it could be the creep who killed these women?”
“It’s possible. I’ll be right over. What’s your address?”
She told him, and he hung up. Damn him.
Kerry downed her soda before she told Grandpa the detective was on the way. She pressed her palm over her chest, hoping to calm the pounding, but it didn’t work. “Why wouldn’t he tell me the woman’s name,” she mumbled to herself.
“Some people don’t like to be involved.”
She slid over to the seat across from him. “I don’t buy it. This guy was angry and mean. He didn’t want me to be involved, not the other way around. If he knew our number, he might know where I live.” Fear choked off her air.
“True.”
“Oh, that helps. You could have lied.”
“It won’t do any good to hide your head in the sand.”
She didn’t need anymore of Grandpa’s sayings. Kerry dropped her head in her hands and didn’t move for the next twenty-five minutes until the doorbell rang.
She raced to answer, but not before looking through the peephole first to make sure it wasn’t some stranger at her door, or the stranger. It was Hunter, face drawn with worry. She unlatched the door and opened it. “Come in.”
He stepped into the foyer, grabbed her shoulders and ran a gaze down the length of her. “Are you okay?”
His strong hands reassured her. “Physically, yes. Mentally, no. I can’t help but wonder how the man found my number.”
Buster came skidding into the living room from the kitchen, nails slipping on the hard wood floor, and whimpered.
“Buster, it’s okay.” She picked him up, and he calmed down immediately.
Hunter moved past her into the living room, his gaze scanning the room. “Right after you called, I had one of the men attempt to trace the number. He just contacted me on my cell as I was heading down your street. No luck. The guy probably used a burner phone.” He spun back to face her. “They’re impossible to trace.”
Damn. “But he knew me, called me by name.”
He was by her side in a second and lifted her chin. “Kerry, it’s not hard to find someone’s number. And as for knowing you, you were on television.”
She swallowed hard. “But I don’t live here. It’s Grandpa’s house.” She turned her back to him, not wanting him to see the tears in her eyes. “It isn’t as though he could have looked up my name in the phonebook.”
“There are ways to find your number. Trust me.”
She turned back around. Trust. Ha. The last time someone had said, “Trust me”, her sister had run off and left her alone to fend for her seven-year-old self. Susan, her mom, her dad all had done the disappearing act at one time or another.
Her grandfather, the one person who’d always been there for her, padded out of the kitchen.
“Saw you on the news tonight. I’m Kerry’s grandfather, Tom Hardy.” He stuck out his hand.
“Hunter Markum.”
Grandpa waved a hand toward the sofa. Kerry and Grandpa took the loveseat while Hunter dropped down on the chair opposite them. He looked more confident than comfortable, which was a good thing.
“I’d like to tap your phone,” Hunter said looking from her to her grandfather.
Kerry glanced at Grandpa. “No problem,” he said.
“I’d also like to have an officer patrol your street. If the caller is dangerous, we can’t take any chances.”
An avalanche of anxiety slammed into her. “You think he’d harm me? In the house?”
Hunter propped his elbows on his knees and clasped his fingers together. “We don’t know anything about him, so it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“I’ll watch out for her,” Grandpa said. “I still have a revolver someplace around here. My eyesight’s not so good anymore, but if some guy came in here, I could take care of him.”
A hint of a smile lifted Hunter’s lips. “I’m sure you could.”
Kerry felt the need to explain. “Grandpa was with the Tampa Police Department many moons ago.”
“That makes me feel a whole lot better,” Hunter said.
Kerry respected Hunter for making her grandfather feel important, though they all knew if someone with a gun burst through the door, her grandfather, at his age, wouldn’t be able to stop the attacker.
“However,” Hunter went on, “I’d be a lot happier if someone stayed with Kerry, twenty-four seven.” Hunter looked around. “Is your husband here?”
The look of anticipation almost made her laugh. Too bad the seriousness of the situation weighed too heavy on her mind to experience amusement. “No. I don’t have a husband.”
“Oh.” He coughed as though he needed a moment to regroup. “I’ll have to see what the department can do then.”
“Are we talking bodyguard here? If you are, I think you’re overreacting. A police presence outside the house at night should be sufficient to scare someone away. I don’t need round the clock protection. It was only a phone call.”
“Kerry, I’m sure you’ve seen a lot in your line of business, but your skeletons have a look of death removed from their eyes. I know what evil lurks out there. You need protection. If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”
She was surprised at his concern. “Then I guess a bodyguard it is, but where would he stay? Here?” Surely, Hunter wasn’t volunteering?
“Once I figure out the logistics, I’ll let you know.” He tapped his knee. “On a different note, I did follow up on the photo you gave me of the ship tattoo on the woman’s ankle.” He pulled a piece a paper out of his top pocket. It was the fax she’d sent.
“Did you find the boat?”
“I searched Harbor Island, Davis Island, and the St. Petersburg marinas, but came up empty. Then my luck turned. There’s a boat at the Tampa Yacht Club named ‘Brandywine.’”
She mentally pictured the letters. “That could be it!” Finally, a ray of hope.
“We haven’t turned the corner yet. I found the owner of the sailboat, but he doesn’t have a daughter.”
“What about a wife, or an ex-wife?” she asked.
“I asked him. His current wife is alive and well. All other female relatives are accounted for. However, he told me he purchased the boat six months ago.”
The usual ramping up of adrenaline dragged her out of her misery. She did the math. “We need to find the former owner.”
“I’m one step ahead of you.”
“You found him?” Her stomach fluttered.
He smiled as if they were a team. “Yes, only he wasn’t home. The maid, who’s English wasn’t the best, said he’d call me back. When is anybody’s guess.”
“That’s great. Do you have his address? Maybe we can go over there and wait for him to return.”
He held up a hand. “Not so fast. I’ll stop by soon if I don’t hear from him.”
She wanted action now. She needed a diversion to take her mind off the phone call.
Detective Markum slapped his thighs and stood. “From now on, Dr. Herlihy—”